To Family
by Quillweave
Summary: A twist. The night of the Purification, Lucien's Silencer breaks down and tells his beloved family what he has been sent to do. Forced to kill him to save themselves they separate and flee, praying to survive until the true traitor is found. These are their stories.
1. Chapter One - Lucien

_Ocheeva, Vicente Valtieri, Antoinetta Marie, Gogron gro-Bolmog, Telaendril, M'raaj-Dar and Teinaava. All of these family members must die!_

Lucien had always been a man of control, until now.

Certainly when he was a young man, he was brash. Quick to snarl and raise hackles, angry at the world that had betrayed him, but having a Family and a purpose guided him towards a smoother, cooler temperament. All that had been a long time ago, and control was of the utmost importance.

He drained the glass. Whiskey, a good, hard burn down his throat. It shattered against the far wall of the fort with a smash, tinkling as it fell to the floor.

It wasn't right. It wasn't _right._ It was of course justified, and necessary, and he would _die_ before betraying the Night Mother, the Listener's orders, but it was _wrong. They_ were wrong.

But the Black Hand's vote, besides his, had been unanimous. There was a link. What, they wouldn't say, but there was a link between the traitor and to Cheydinhal, to His family. One of them was the traitor.

 _Which?_

He prowled back and forth across the floor, dragging a hand through lank strands of loose hair, long since fallen untied.

Vicente, once his mentor, now his colleague and friend, always a source of wisdom. Antoinetta, so frail and full of fear and hate when he'd found her, ever the irritating little sister of their family, ever adoring. Telaendril and Gogron, both separate from the others in their own way but so _effective,_ so dedicated to their cause. M'raaj-Dar, caustic and curt but all the more loyal to those who earned it in time, and his twins, the Argonian twins who he had nearly raised –

No. _No._ It couldn't be, not any of them. And yet the Black Hand was right. He was biased. How could he possibly see? His Silencer loved their family, undoubtedly, but at least to him, they were still new. Perhaps the sting would be less.

The sting of another drink, he welcomed. And another. Skin burning, a relief the cool stonework against his brow as he collapsed to the wall, teeth gritting. His fist curled. The ancient stones rumbled with the slam of his fist, another.

His Silencer. Had he already completed his gruesome task? Did he hesitate now? Or was he already grieving, torn apart as he felt himself? Would he even survive and then still, what of _them?_

The order had been given. And he had, at least, maintained control then. Smooth and cool. Oh, what his Silencer must have thought, seeing him so brutally condemn his beloved family without a hint of remorse, of regret.

The echoes of Fort Farragut echoed with his roar of frustration, of bone-wrenching grief. Then with low, mirthless laughter.

The bottle was nearly empty. One last drink, then. He filled one of his few remaining glasses. The Family that knew him would hardly recognize him this night, not like this. Hair loose and tangled around his shoulders, face rough with muzzle, hollows carved under his closed eyes and a stiff, unnatural grin fixed on his lips.

A final toast. To those loved and lost, to loyalty. He drank deep.

To _Family._


	2. Chapter Two - Gogron and Telaendril

Telaendril has been on contract, that terrible night.

On the Red Ring Road outside the Imperial City, simply doing her duty as she always would. Stalking her target, a travelling merchant along the roads. Watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and vanish like a shadow, leaving his cart ransacked as though he'd simply been found by bandits. She was camping then, a small fire on a hill above the road where he'd stopped his cart and made camp himself. He had fallen asleep only an hour ago. Not yet. She was patient, content to wait.

All was silent until it wasn't. And she _knew_ those heavy footfalls, those grunts of exertion anywhere.

"Gogron?"

"Telaendril!" He ran for her, gathered her up in his arms and squeezed her so tight she feared she'd snap. Gentle laughter trailed off when he put her down, when she realized his armour was spattered with heavy travel and dried blood.

"Gogron, what are you doing here? What has happened?"

"I had t'come, I had to warn you, 'fukken Sithis _Himself_ – " He grabbed her again, breath coming hoarse. He'd been running – running hard, maybe for days to reach her. Alarm spiked heavy, sickly.

"What? What is it, my love?"

"His _Silencer_! The new kid, the Speaker's boy, he told us, he, Night Mother, I can't _breathe_ – "

"Sit down, Gogron, catch your breath." She guided him into sitting, trying to meet his gaze. "What did he say?"

"He said…" Gogron, for all his brute strength and bravado, was an emotional man. A big heart suited for a big body, part of what she loved about the fool. His jaw shook, eyes wet. "He said the Speaker sent him ta, ta _purify_ us – that one of us was the traitor 'n we all had _t'die!"_

The Purification. Telaendril went numb. She'd heard the term spoken in hushed tones before. An ancient rite. A _terrible_ one. And on _them._ No, no, _no_. "Did – did anyone else survive?"

"Everyone but the kid 'mself, far as I know. He fought, but he didn't _want_ t'fight. Just following orders. We scattered. I came here looking for you."

"There's still time." Her contract would have to wait. Telaendril rose from the fire, jaw setting firm. "If we can reach the Speaker we can explain that you and I aren't traitors, help him locate the true _worm_ who would dare dishonor our family. If we – "

"You crazy, Tel? You think I'm going back there, back to that _bastard?_ "

The Bosmer stopped short, her heart in her throat. "… How dare you talk of the Speaker that way."

"He would've had us all _killed_!" A near roar, but her target was forgotten. Telaendril narrowed her eyes, voice a low hiss in contrast.

"And that _hurts_ , but it was surely the order of the Black Hand. They only want to cleanse the sickness in our Family. If we help them, prove our loyalty, we may yet survive this. Our _Family_ might survive."

"Fuck that." A snarl from the Orc, now rising to tower over her. "I ain't going back to them who would've had me killed when I've been 'nuthin but loyal. It ain't right, and they'd probably just kill us on sight for running anyway." His expression softened, a meaty hand moving to her back to try and pull her closer. She stood her ground.

"Come on, Tel. _Please._ I know you love them, but they _betrayed_ us. We can start over, y'know? Plenty of places need contract killers, plenty of blood t'be spilled in some other province. Come with me. Y'know I'll keep you safe."

She _had_ felt safe, these years beside him. Nestled beside his massive form in bed, in his arms, his low, rumbling snores soothing her through insomnia. Laughing with each other about the stark contrast of their styles, how true it was that opposites attract. But this…

This wasn't loyalty. This wasn't the man she'd fallen for, teased and dallied with over the years. This was her Family no longer. Slowly she shook her head, taking a step back. "I cannot." Voice cold, cold as the grave. "I have a duty, Gogron, and so do you. Would you flee that duty out of fear? After the vows you made?"

He stared at her for a long moment, the hurt on his face tempering into something harder, more distant. His eyes closed. A long sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, I will." A bitter smile curved his lips, bared his teeth as his gaze flickered back to her. "Guess I'm a traitor, after all." He shrugged, but she heard the grief in his voice. "Goodbye, Telaendril."

He turned. She swallowed back her own grief as he began to leave her, trudging into the dark, past the rolling hill. In the back of her head, she was already making plans. Oh, the fear of being found a traitor on sight held true, but she would _prove_ she was loyal or die trying. She had a duty to her family, to her beloved Dark Matron, above all others.

And as she thought, she nocked an arrow. Raised it high, shifting to face her mark as he made his way into the distance.

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, but her murmur was smooth.

"Goodbye, Gogron."

The arrow flew true.


	3. Chapter Three - Antoinetta and Vicente

"I need – I need to stop."

"Antoinetta, we cannot. We must keep moving. The moment the Black Hand knows we survived – "

" _Please,_ Vee."

A pause. The old vampire inhaled deep not out of need, but purely to feel his lungs swell, purely to expel that breath in a sigh as he thought what to say. His first instinct, a reprimand. He'd told her time and time again not to call him by that inane little nickname.

But her eyes wide and wet and red-rimmed, her face drawn with exhaustion and pain, he simply couldn't bring the words to pass. A low sigh. Instead he reached for her, winding an arm around her back and under her arm so she could lean her weight onto him. The wound was impossible to see in the dark, but even under her armour the bandages had to be soaked through by now. Rain still fell torrid, a curse for the cold, a blessing for the shroud it made.

He peered through the darkness, the sheets and occasional illumination as thunder crackled and rumbled overhead. A moment of bright light guided the way. "Come."

He lead her then, across the rocky ground of the mountain range. A dangerous choice for the plain view – easier to lose themselves in forest or swamp – but with many caverns, many nooks in which to hide. And, if they were lucky, they wouldn't be hiding long.

 _If._

At last they were sheltered from the rain, stumbling inside the cavern together. The drops of water that fell from them, even that gentle sound, seemed to echo. Deep in until they had only the barest trace of light from the entrance. He helped her to the wall, to sink down off her feet. A hiss of pain. He joined her, able even in this dark to see her face.

The tears came again. They had, every time they'd stopped over this past – four, five days? Silent save occasional sniffles or whimpers, the times her eyes would close and her face would contort as though in agony. But they hadn't spoken of it. There hadn't been time, first the battle, putting down their newest Brother before fleeing, hardly able to rest…

She'd hit her limit. And truthfully, he was hitting his. Even for a creature such as he, there was only so far he could push. And his stock of blood tainted before the Silencer confessed to his task, he hadn't fed since well before they'd even left. In quiet moments, the thump of his Sister's heart made his mouth water.

She shuddered, shivering beside him. Peeling back her armour to show the bandaged wound in her calf, long since bled through and yellowed. They would have to watch it carefully for infection.

 _Damn_ it all, if only they'd had time to prepare. To gather supplies, to make a plan, but it had all happened so fast and there was distrust between them already, each fearing the other traitor…

And what about her?

No. He'd already decided that. No, not her. Impossible to imagine _any_ of his Brothers or Sisters capable of treachery, but Antoinetta lived and breathed the Brotherhood, had since she was a slip of a girl. She shifted against him now, breath hitching.

"I just don't understand."

He watched her. She'd spoken so little in these past days, so unlike her – perhaps this was a good sign. A hand on her shoulder. Even in comparison to him, she was strikingly cold. "I am so sorry, Sister."

"We _loved_ each other. We were _Family._ And even _him_ , I trusted him, I thought…" Harsher this time her sob. She placed her head between her legs where she sat, elbows resting on her knees, fingers dragging through golden curls. "And the Speaker. How could he do this to us, Vicente? _Why?_ "

"Lucien…" Even the name made her whimper. Vicente shook his head, sighing low. "… The Black Hand undoubtedly made the ruling, and he is loyal to the Listener, to the Night Mother."

" _We're_ loyal!" Almost hysterical, her shriek. He hushed her, soothed her back down as she wept.

"We are, Sister. But he had little choice to try and expunge the traitor, to obey the order given. To do less would be to betray Sithis himself."

A pause. She spoke soft, so timid and meek it almost made him wince. "… Are we traitors, now? For running? Should we, should we just have laid down and _died_?"

He didn't know. It was something he'd mulled many times in their flight. Still, she needed an answer. She depended on him. "… I do not believe so, Antoinetta. We have broken no tenet. We were not ordered to die. If the Night Mother smiles on us, the traitor will be found and dealt with, and we will all return home. Until then…"

She wound her way in close, sidled up against him as though to try and share in warmth he didn't have. Teeth chattering between her quieted sobs, rubbing her wounded leg up and down. "I – I hope it's soon. I hope everyone else is okay."

"As do I."

Silence reigned between them. Outside the rainfall continued, spilling in heavy sheets, the storm crackling and rushing overhead to make a sound almost like howling over the entrance. If only it were dry, perhaps they could find wood, start a fire…

"Stay here a moment, Sister. I will not be long."

A nod. Wrung through she was beginning to doze off, chin tilting down to her chest. He rose and made his way back deeper into the cavern. Many such places were used for storage or smuggling, or as hideouts. He'd felt no life in here as they'd entered, smelled no bleed nor heart any beating of hearts, but…

 _Yes._ A sigh of relief, a silent thanks to the Night Mother. No, they were loyal. And they would survive long enough to prove it.

She only roused when he'd had the fire lit, a mess of splintered wood from crates and barrels long since forgotten in the cavern to feed it. Confusion flickered over her features at the sudden light and warmth, then relief. Small, pale hands stretched out to soak in the heat.

"Thank you, Vee-Vee."

And _that_ was even worse. Still, now was not the time for petty squabbles. He settled beside her again. "You are welcome, Sister. Please, try and rest."

Striking the contrast of being away from her and being close again now. The throb of her heartbeat, the song of life thrumming rich red through her veins. Like an itch, like a burn, hunger swelled up.

 _No._ He dismissed it, cold ash in his mouth. No. He could be patient as necessary, no matter how he starved. _Think._ He closed his eyes, lay his head back against the stone. Tomorrow. She would be hungry again tomorrow. With luck, they might catch something. Even just fish, or some wild fruit, something to keep her strength up. They'd move further Northeast, putting distance between themselves and the danger in the cities. They…

A pause. Her heart had sped up. He sat upright to find her watching him, brow furrowed and lips turned in a look of concern.

"You don't look so good."

"I am fine, sister." It _ached_ in his jaw, down into his fangs, arched in his curling fingers. So close. He had written once in a foul temper to Ocheeva that there was no tenet against draining his sister of a few pints of precious blood. Her lips parted, slow in realization.

"I – I'm sorry, Vicente, you must be starving. I didn't even think. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes." Yes, yes, he _had_ to be. His head throbbed. "In time, sister."

"We should have stopped, should have tried to nab a stupid bandit or…"

"There is too much risk in detours. I will be fine, sister, I assure you."

She glared for a moment. He almost could have laughed. Those big blue eyes frimmed with pale lashes, that little pout. Sithis, it was almost a relief to see something so familiar after all of this. She glowered a moment longer before pulling back the sleeve of her armour, baring her wrist and presenting it, practically jamming it under his nose.

Night Mother preserve him. Sweet and hot and heady like wine, making his chest tighten, a snarl on his lips. His nares flared before he shook his head. "You don't know what you're offering, Sister."

"You're _starving,_ Vee. As long as you don't drain me dry it's fine, right?" She shifted to sit up on her knees. "I'll be fine."

"You are injured and exhausted."

"It hurts, but it's not that bad. But you _need_ to drink. You need t'be able to think straight. _I_ need you." Those damned eyes, the little tilt of her head as she pleaded. "Please."

So like Antoinetta to cut to the heart of the matter in such a childish way. Without pretense, speaking the truth. Yes, it was becoming harder and harder to think clearly. Another few days and he would be ravenous, senseless. And if he waited much longer, if he pushed his tolerance too far…

What if he fell on her then? Unable to control these base urges that drove him to destroy and devour?

A hard swallow. He cradled her offered hand in his for a moment, wrist upturned. "Only if you are certain, Sister."

"I am. Just like I'm sure we're not traitors, and we definitely don't need to be _Purified_." She spat the last word with such ferocity he almost chuckled. "You're right. We'll wait it out, and then we'll march right back and show we were loyal the whole time. Now, go ahead and drink, okay?"

Purified. Even as he smiled at his loyal, stubborn Sister, his gut recoiled at the thought of what could have been. All of them, dead in what had been their home. Even with their souls sent to Sithis a terrible and sudden end, all to purify a sickness he simply couldn't believe was there to begin with.

No, he couldn't believe that. She gave only a little hiss of pain before relaxing as his teeth sank in, expertly opening a vein that would seal later by nature of his saliva, sealing the wound. Hot blood rushed into his mouth, making his shoulders slump in relief as he drank what she offered. Out of loyalty, out of love.

He'd never tasted anything so pure.


	4. Chapter Four - M'raaj-Dar

"Ah. I was wondering when you would arrive."

M'raaj-Dar sat comfortably in the Sanctuary, lounging to regard those who had come to kill him. To kill _all_ of them, undoubtedly, those who had already fled. The Black Hand circled him where he sat, blades at the ready. He only shrugged under their stares.

"The Silencer could not complete his task. The others have fled – I do not know where." His eyes landed on J'ghasta in particular, a little tilt of his head for the Speaker he'd once served. The other cat grinned wide.

It was him who'd taught M'raaj-Dar how to speak like the Cyrodiils, to drop the third person. He who'd seen potential in the young mage, so full of hate after his rejection from the Arcane University. He who'd sent him to Cheydinhal, to Lucien with promises of his potential.

And he'd lived up to it. Sithis take them all, he _had_. Oh, he wasn't like them, with blades and arrows and poisons, but he handled his contracts as smoothly and coldly as they, wisps of frost from corpses that shattered like glass. He'd been loyal, and all his loyalty was for naught. All upturned by that whelp who betrayed them, and just as he'd been foolish enough to begin to _trust_ him. All this, said in a smirk and the raise of a goblet.

"You know, of course, there can be no survivors of a Purification. Not with the traitor still loose." A smooth purr from J'ghasta. "And we cannot trust that _you_ are not the traitor yourself. That you don't know exactly where the others have fled. If you tell us, you will spare yourself much suffering. Do the right thing, Brother."

The right thing. _Brother_. Acidic those words, dragging a hoarse cackle from M'raaj-Dar's throat. Brother – _oh,_ the mistakes he'd made. Trusting this family. _Any_ of them. He'd given them everything and now…

"I will, Speaker. _This one_ assures you he will."

He knew he wouldn't live, couldn't. Outnumbered, outskilled in such close quarters. But he fought like a wildcat, snarling, throwing vicious spells that charred to bone and froze flesh solid. They had no choice but to put him down, and that was precisely how he wanted it.

They wouldn't use him for their own ends. Never again.

The hems of black robes shuffled around him as he lay there. His goblet spilled, wine mingling at the edges of the dark pool beneath him. His breaths coming low, shallow. Then a low, rasping laugh.

Their confusion was palpable until the reason he chuckled became clear, blood burbling up to stain his furred jaw. Schemer, their little pet rat. One of the touches that made this place not a lair or a hideout, but a Sanctuary. His _home_. The rat came close to M'raaj-Dar's outstretched paw, sniffing, nuzzling it.

His head rung. Someone moved, their blade poised to strike downwards into his heart as he flopped onto his back. The rat clambered up atop him, nestled in the crook of his neck as he often had. _At least someone,_ he thought distantly.

 _At least someone remembers what loyalty means._


	5. Chapter Five - Ocheeva and Teinaava

Driven from the Sanctuary, Ocheeva and Teinaava fled to the only other home they'd ever known.

Familiar in a distant way, these swamps. Soothing on a primal level from generations before them that called places like this home. The constant hum of life, of insects and birds and frogs croaking, the humid air hanging heavy and thick with rot. They moved nimbly through the bog of Blackwood, as they had done these past days in silence.

"I still – I cannot believe this. It still feels like a _dream_."

It was Ocheeva who broke it, slowing to a stop. A deep breath, yellow eyes filmed with tears blinked away. Her brother stopped by her side, feeling her pain. Joined, as they had always been from the egg they shared.

"I know, Sister. But we must keep moving."

"I should have seen something." She followed again, muttering almost to herself. Eyes flickering back and forth, breath shallow. "But how _could_ I? None of them seemed to – they were all loyal. But I was the Mistress. I should have _seen,_ I could have stopped this – "

"You cannot blame yourself. We could never have known the Black Hand would fall on us." Fall and try to smother, like an unwanted child in the cradle. A shudder crept through Teinaava, making scales rankle.

"Speaker Lachance – _Lucien_ – to think he could not trust me, that I was not _worthy_ – " A choking, wretched sob. She stopped short again and her brother moved to her, a hand on her back, gentle.

"Sister, please. We must keep moving."

"To what? _Where?_ We are _Shadowscales,_ Teinaava." A sudden viciousness to her voice that drew him upright. "This – the Sanctuary, Lucien's teachings, our Family, they were our _birthright._ I was the Mistress, I should have known. Without that, without them…" Her shoulders slumped, sharp lines of teeth bared in a bitter smile. "I am nothing."

"I feel the same emptiness, Sister." The same pain, the same brutal sting of rejection from the people they'd trusted most. From the man who'd raised them, trained them, who they'd loved like a father.

"… Are we doing the right thing?"

"Sister?"

"Fleeing our fate." She spoke dully now as they continued to move, their tracks being swallowed behind them by the mud. "We are not traitors, I know. But if the Black Hand has called for our death…"

She didn't need to finish. He knew. Had shared that same thought, that same fear these past days as they ran. The Black Hand was fallible. Almost a treachery itself to think that, but it was true – they were mortal. They were only doing what was necessary to keep the Family safe. They had broken no tenet, but this felt…

"Wrong." Ocheeva finished his thought, bowing her head low. "This feels _wrong."_

"… Yes."

"If we were truly loyal, we would have lain down our weapons and died there. Knowing our souls would go to Sithis and our Dark matron. We would have helped him _slay_ our Brothers and Sisters, if only to drive the traitor out, to follow the wishes of our Listener."

"We have dishonoured ourselves." It wasn't a question, but Ocheeva nodded. A shudder crawled down her back before she straightened, nares flaring. A new calm, a new determination settled over her.

"We are both loyal children of the Night Mother. We are Shadowscales. If she has called us to her embrace, even if we fear it, even if we are not ready…"

The humid, dank swamp was suddenly chill. Still, Teinaava nodded slowly. Their eyes met, and a pact was made. "Then we must heed the call."

They stopped to make camp. Prayer, first. Supplication. That they didn't deserve forgiveness, but they would do what little they could to redeem themselves. That they were ever loyal, ever ready to serve her and their Dread Father.

Then, by their flickering campfire, they shared stories. Laughing at the memories of their siblings, contracts, blood spilled, triumphs and losses over the years. All the while taking advantage of the swamp surrounding them, what it offered. Even they, adapted as they were to their deadly homeland, could succumb to its toxins given time, given bounty. And Blackwood offered death in spades.

Their waterskins now held their creation, pulped plants and what little remained of their rationed clean drinking water. It would taste foul. It hardly mattered. Ocheeva raised her own, the liquid sloshing within, and took a deep breath.

"To our Night Mother and Dread Father. May they forgive us our trespass, and may the traitor that has brought such chaos to our family suffer for their crimes. To our Brothers and Sisters, alive and dead."

Teinaava nodded. Their campfire, in the moisture of the swamp, was beginning to sputter and fade.

"To loyalty." A low rasp. He raised his own waterskin, meeting hers for a cheer before swigging back the contents, down to the last drop. Wiping his fanged mouth, giving a small smile to his twin, mirrored by her.

"To _Family."_


End file.
